


[HEROIC 2+] The Capacity for Creation

by temero



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Mpreg, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-15 22:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18507946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temero/pseuds/temero
Summary: The Sith Inquisitor conducts a ritual to max out a faction’s reputation.





	[HEROIC 2+] The Capacity for Creation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Asymptotical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asymptotical/gifts).



Andronikos leaned back against the altar with his arms crossed and watched the Sith stalk a quick circle around the ritual chamber, setting up shimmering bundles of circuits at regular intervals as he went. This was their last obstacle before complete acceptance to the enclave, and the Sith was evidently determined to get it over with quickly.  
  
For himself, Andronikos could have used a few more weeks in the ice to freeze all his worries to death. Or to figure out a more direct, bloody route to success. It wasn’t that he was opposed. He just needed more time to wrap his head around the idea. This wasn’t something he’d ever dreamed was possible, and he wished the it had never been planted in his head because he hadn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep since the start of this new _‘mission’_.  
  
Sure, the Gree were incomprehensible. Yes, their technology was sophisticated. But they were not what he would call _adept_ at combat. They couldn’t even muster the force to collect their own pilfered tech. Even if it wouldn’t wipe his mind clean, Andronikos still thought it would be faster to kill their way into their vaults—but the Sith had headed off this plan before it could even be proposed: they needed the help of the creatures themselves to interpret their archives, and their thoughts were too alien to be compelled by the Sith’s usual _persuasive_ methods. He was adamant that they take a more diplomatic approach.  
  
So they were stuck building up a good reputation with the things the old fashioned way: running errands.  
  
 For this latest—and final—test, they’d spent the better part of the week collecting bizarre Gree totems in the bitter cold, fighting off rampaging droids—since nothing was ever easy. Not even his imminent impregnation.  
  
(When they’d picked up the job from the joyfully burbling tentacled monstrosity, the droid translator had exclaimed something about _‘combining white segment to achieve red sector for purple parallel!’_  
  
Happily, the Sith was something of a genius at communication with ancient lifeforms.  
  
“This is it,” he’d hissed, sparking with determination, “this is my last trial, my _in_ with the Gree. Once they accept me I’ll have access to their datacores. An Empire’s worth of knowledge more ancient than the Rakata!” Seemingly unable to contain himself, his sudden grasp at Andronikos’s arm was brief, the release just as abrupt, “Andronikos, can I count on you? We’ve been through so much together, and for this I’m going to need your help.”  
  
“Sure, Sith,” Andronikos had drawled thoughtlessly, “but what’s this last trial?”  
  
The Sith had told him that they needed to prove that they had the capacity for more than just destruction. Then, as the droid had projected unnecessarily graphic anatomical diagrams in high resolution detail only achievable by Gree supercomputer, the Sith had told him how they were supposed to prove it.  
  
Andronikos would admit to himself that the Sith, despite being a killer and a manipulator, was no liar. He’d always kept his word about his company being— _interesting_.)  
  
He knew of course—he didn’t have to go through with this request. If he refused, the Sith wouldn’t force his participation. If he’d been the kind of person to compel obedience from his companions Andronikos would have left him well before he’d risen to power. Would have cut his throat while the kids— _apprentices_ —were on shore-leave. Stolen his ship and marooned him on Taris, or Quesh. Pulled all the files he had access to and delivered them to Thanaton and let the two of them kill each other.  
  
He’d been ready to break and run as soon as the Sith had given him command of piloting the ship—which was at once. Despite coming up in such a ruthless society he was foolishly free with his gifts. He was also oddly yielding to his crew—if not to anyone else. Andronikos hadn’t taken advantage, he didn’t want to be in his debt. Any _more_ in his debt.  
  
So Andronikos knew he could back out at any time, but the Sith wouldn’t. And the idea of anyone else submitting to this ritual with his Sith was more absurd than the idea of Andronikos going through with it himself and winding up as some poor creature’s _mother_. It was frustrating, being chained to this man by nothing but his own will.  
  
Shameless as ever, that man was now disrobing pointedly before him, preparations apparently complete.  
  
“Real chilly in here,” Andronikos observed, not moving. He was determined to see this through, but also he couldn’t help stalling. A defensive reflex.  
  
Stripped to nothing, armor and tunics dropped carelessly at his feet, the Sith told him in what was probably the worst attempt at comfort Andronikos had ever received, “I don’t really feel temperature anymore.”  
  
He couldn’t help but bark a laugh, “Too bad I don’t have the Force to insulate me like you do.”  
  
This wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’d ever done, and it wasn’t going to be unpleasant. Andronikos knew what he was doing, and the Sith had a history of bowing to the greater expertise of the crew. And for someone who’d died more than once and at one point rotted himself out from the inside with insidious ghost magic, he was an attractive specimen. They got along well.

It was the aftermath he was worried about. He’d been too dazed to absorb the Sith’s action plan during the initial explanation, and there was no universe in which he would ever ask for reassurance and further clarification from this particular walking disaster. He was going to be flying blind into uncharted territory. 

“At least you don’t have to get naked,” the Sith grumbled, crossing his arms to mirror Andronikos’s pose.  
  
Andronikos stared at him, speechless.  
  
“Well,” the Sith conceded, “you’ll have to take your gloves off.”  
  
“This thing requires full body contact for it to work, doesn’t it?” Andronikos checked.  
  
“Yes,” the Sith agreed, “but the donor just needs to press on where the entity quickens. I think more touch is better, but we don’t want you to freeze to death.”  
  
“What,” Andronikos said.  
  
“But—” the Sith started, drawing the word out, “If you want to have a more full body contact run later, I would definitely be amenable. For now, though, let’s get this done with and get me some forbidden knowledge. We don’t have to talk about what’s between us here if you don’t want to. We could just do the full body contact run for fun.” He patted Andronikos twice on the cheek and once on the shoulder, then used the contact to nudge him over and hopped up onto the altar himself. He immediately lay flat against it and looked at Andronikos expectantly.  
  
“What,” Andronikos said again, because he’d been agonizing over this and what it would mean for his future as a man for the better part of two weeks.  
  
“I know you don’t like to talk about feelings,” the Sith said, “I didn’t want to make it weird.”  
  
“You didn’t want to make it weird,” Andronikos echoed.  
  
“Because it only works when there’s strong bonds of emotion between the participants. And I know how you hate that,” the Sith said.  
  
Andronikos uncrossed his arms and pressed his palms together to keep them from decking the Sith—to check if this was actually happening, because apparently touching the Sith was all that he was supposed to do and punching counted as touching, “I thought this was a wild Gree sex ritual.”  
  
“It is,” the Sith agreed, “they’re a very mathematical, emotion-driven species.”  
  
“I’m not going to have a monstrous Force baby?” Andronikos asked.  
  
“I think it’s probably going to be something Gree adjacent,” the Sith said. He sat up and reached for Andronikos, “I’m thinking we should name it Kallig II.”  
  
Andronikos let him pry his hands apart and peel his gloves off. He couldn’t decide if he was angry or relieved.  
  
No. He was angry.  
  
He took the Sith by the wrists and drove him back down onto the altar. To get him in a satisfying hold he ended up vaulting on top of it with him, straddling his hips and putting them face-to-face. Against his knees and fingers it was punishingly cold, the skin under him warm in comparison. It almost made the Sith feel like a person and not the deliberately obtuse monster he’d been all along.  
  
“Oh!” the Sith exclaimed. He tilted his head back to look at him coyly, baring his neck in the process in what was undoubtedly a calculated move meant to remind Andronikos that he had, actually, a very nice neck. When he tested his grip he rolled his head the other way, visibly delighted—not what Andronikos was going for. Then his face fell in disappointment—also not what Andronikos was going for.  
  
Andronikos wasn’t sure anymore what he’d been going for. The Sith twisting around under him and fluttering his eyelashes had taken the heat out of his temper—or maybe that was the threatening frostbite he could feel in his near future.  
  
The Sith sighed, hands flexing, “Not that I’m not excited by this fun new experience—and I absolutely think we should revisit it—but I don’t really want this thing growing out of my wrists.”  
  
Mentally, Andronikos recoiled. He successfully failed to envision what that might look like, but the threat of being faced with it in reality made him release his hold and sit up.

The Sith caught him by the hands before he could get far. They were directed down over his navel. Andronikos could feel the new, untouched smoothness of his skin. That whole Mother Machine bodywork thing had really messed him up.   
  
“There we go,” the Sith said, dropping his arms back to his sides to spread himself fully over the altar.   
  
For a moment nothing happened, and then he felt the Sith give a shudder beneath him.  
  
“You alright?” he asked reflexively.  
  
“—fine,” the Sith gasped.  
  
Around them the totems lit up the chamber in technicolor. Andronikos jumped when the altar began to hum, so low he could feel it vibrating up through his bones.  
  
The Sith was panting quick little puffs of air, as totally silent as he always was when unnatural magic was being inflicted on him. Something was clearly going on, but Andronikos couldn’t tell what beyond freezing his shins off. Under his hands he could feel a heat creeping through his palms. He pressed down more firmly.

The Sith tried to arch up from the middle, shoulders straining. Without his crazy magic they were on equal footing, physically, but the Sith was in a disadvantaged position.

He made a soft, hurt noise that had the hair on Androniko’s arms standing on end.

Despite the sudden, strange impulse to release him, he kept him pinned. Being in full contact with the altar was the only requirement he knew about. He perhaps should have swallowed his pride and asked for a debrief. No, the Sith should have understood that he hadn’t listened to any of the initial explanation and given him a quick pre-ritual refresher.

A series of discordant, alien tones sounded, the lights flickering eerily in time.

Then it all stopped.  
  
After a long moment frozen in ringing silence Andronikos asked, “That’s it?”  
  
“Mm,” the Sith confirmed, eyes closed.  
  
He threw himself off the altar. It took real effort not to collapse to the floor on the dismount: his legs were numb.  
  
When Andronikos glanced back at him the Sith rolled over to his side, a foggy look in his eyes. He opened his mouth and then shut it with a grimace, and rolled away from Andronikos without saying anything.  
  
Andronikos staggered over to retrieve his robes and armor in a defensive fit of compassion.  
  
When he came back to the altar the Sith was sitting up, once again alert. He accepted the offering of clothes as easily as ever, and without Andronikos having to come up with an excuse for why he’d delivered them. He hopped down and got himself dressed and back to rights more quickly than Andronikos had, which felt unfair.  
  
Andronikos gave him a once-over. He really didn’t look any different, “You sure this thing worked?”  
  
“Oh, yes,” the Sith said, “this is just the conception. It’ll take half a year to manifest, but once they see me it will confirm the ritual was a success. I’ve been assured I’ll then be permitted access to the enclave.”  
  
“You’re good with being laid up for months?” Andronikos had been preparing for it, but he wouldn’t have been happy about it. He knew the Sith was even less capable of standing boredom than he was.  
  
The Sith pressed a hand against his stomach thoughtfully, “It should really be named Kallig III.”

  
_#_

  
“Obtuse vertex for to increasing the secant!” the droid chirruped.  
  
Andronikos looked at the Sith. He shrugged, hand still rubbing his stomach over his robes, “I don’t get it either. Let’s go ask that Gree. I have a hard time with droids.”  
  
When they approached it, the Gree burbled something possibly satisfied at them and waved its tentacles around enthusiastically.  
  
The Sith nodded along like he understood what it was saying. He _was_ a genius at communicating with ancient alien lifeforms, even if he was terrible at communicating with Andronikos.  
  
“It will develop faster the more we’re in contact,” the Sith translated, and made several demanding, clawing motions at him, “It suggests holding hands.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for reading!  
> Asymptotical, you made me finally start the LS Consular. I hope you enjoyed this silly Sith fic.


End file.
